I Never Picked Cotton!

I saw on the 'net that some angry, offended gal got all bent out of shape because she saw a display featuring cotton plants and bolls in a store.  She got offended because it reminded her of slavery; at least that's what she said.  There's a darn good chance that it didn't remind her of work, because I don't think she has ever worked a real job.  Her profile picture on a popular Internet page shows her reading some poetry by Maya Angelou, so she is probably more about feelings than producing.

I can look at reminders of  work and not get angry.  I've  cleaned old appliances, moved big old chest freezers out of farmhouse basements, helped change crossties and pack ballast, taken care of quadraplegic college students, fought fires,  changed driveshafts and clutches on the side of the road, and worked behind a pulling unit on 95 degree days, and I don't get all pissed-off when I see reminders of the hard work. I am glad that I was able to be a wage earner for more than fifty years, and I don't have much patience for freeloaders.

My folks were sharecroppers in the Fifties and Sixties.  That was hard, and I am glad they broke out of it.  If you want to know hardship, be a young couple without the money to pay bills and have your milk cow drop over dead.  The Cotton Boll Gal doesn't know crap about hardship, or hard work. Here's a good song, just to remind us all that privilege, no matter your color, can be advanced by hard work.